


Captured

by aspecialsomeone



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Horror, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspecialsomeone/pseuds/aspecialsomeone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want you to shoot him.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured

It was supposed to be a simple infiltration based somewhere at the run-down borders of an Asian country, supposed to be an in-and-out job to fetch some dirty paperwork and sabotage some weaponry and not combat the security—supposed to be a scenario in which Harry and Eggsy should make it out unscathed.

So when Harry finally awakens from a numbing darkness, with a pounding noise ringing from the back of his skull, his auburn eyes blink thrice and focus into panic. 

_Eggsy._

Harry’s in a bricked, dimly-lit bathroom that smells something horrid, brownish-reddish muck dripping from the walls and pooling at his feet. He clears his head and tries to arise from his awkward sitting position, but finds himself grounded to a water pipe in the corner of the room with rusty handcuffs. His glasses sit folded on his lap as if given as a present to his unconscious body, and notices the cracks in the lenses and a white noise coming from the intercom. A glance to the floor reveals broken glass that show him in snippets what hell looks like on a person—hair is completely disheveled, blood cakes at the brow and underneath his ears, cuts on his neck down and eyes bloodshot. 

But its not that, nor is it the heavy atmosphere that worries him—but the lack of Eggsy anywhere sends his heart throbbing up into his throat, and finds it harder to breathe. 

He hears shuffling and gruff noises from the outside corridors, and only seconds later does the metal door on the other side of the bathroom swing open, ringing out as the hinges squeak and the door collides with some piping. 

There are three built, ebony-clad men speaking and slurring in a gruff language Harry is finding some trouble understanding, probably since he’s still in a nauseating daze from whatever blunt object struck him in the back of his head, and the tranquilizing drugs they’ve injected thereafter. They break the chains and hoist Harry forcefully to his feet as they dig their fingernails into his shoulders, securing him from fleeing. One of the men prod his backside with the barrel of an M16, pushing him forward through the doorway and through the hallways that are in no better shape than the bathroom.

Lights flicker as he walks for what feels like centuries as Harry scans each metal door’s glass slits for Eggsy. What his vision finds instead are the remnants of bodies and their remains stringing from each chamber, some prostitutes in metal beddings and chains, and screaming individuals with needles in their arms and belts restraining them. If this is the fate to those who come here, then he could not imagine the state that Eggsy’s in.

Eventually, they arrive at a larger chamber with double-metal doors, inching their way open as one of the three men push with all their might—

A gargling cry of disdain crawl its way out of Harry’s throat as he feels a pang in his chest from a sight he could live without ever having to see. There he is, an unconscious Eggsy, ground in a folding chair with his arms behind his back, feet ball-chained to the concrete floor and a reddened cloth gagging him. He looks like shit, with a blackened eye and swollen cheek, golden locks torn from his scalp and curtaining his shoulders; there are dried tears caking at his eye lids, mixing with blood that still continues to pool from his stricken forehead.

“E-Eggs—“ The boy’s name dies in his throat.

“You two have caused me quite some pain,” a low, male voice echoes behind him as the shuffling of more henchmen follow. One of the men place their hands behind Harry’s neck, to keep him from looking at the source of the dialogue. “I’ve lost ten members of my security force and some blood on my suit, and I can’t have that now, can I? No woman or laundromat to do my clothes, after all.”

Harry says nothing, but his face radiates nothing but red anger as the men keep his eyes forward on Eggsy.

“Now, I would have usually killed you both, but since it’s so boring here, I’m going to have a bit of fun with this one,” the antagonist’s voice purrs in ecstasy, and Harry feels large digits running up and down his spine and all he wants to do is vomit. Harry senses a warm breath on the lobes of his ear and it comes out in a low, slow whisper—

“I want you to shoot him.”

Harry’s world dives into white noise.

The man unravels Harry’s clenching fists and closes them with a .22 caliber pistol in his hands. Harry would have jerked and killed the fucker right there, were it not for his henchmen restraining his arms and pulling them closer towards Eggsy’s beaten body.

“You know, he talked about you,” the man said. Harry’s breath hitches. “Said that he's in love with you, said that you were _everything_ and that I was a bloody bastard for harming you.” The rubbing of clothes behind him is the sound from the motion to have one of the men in the back of the room approach Eggsy’s beaten figure, untying and raising up the young man’s hand broken and bruised beyond recognition—a symbol of torture to extract what Eggsy only gave was a confession of his love. 

The movement of his limbs gradually awakens Eggsy, viridescent eyes glassy from the drugs, but slowly focusing on Harry and silently pleading for help. 

“He said he would rather die to see you bleeding on the floor like I usually let my ‘clients’ do—so, as the gentleman as I am, I will grant him that wish.”

Harry snaps out of his raging stupor and gives out a low growl. “ _I will not._ ”

A hearty laugh echoes through the chamber. “Funny, I didn’t say I was giving a choice, was I?” And all of a sudden, the barrels of a shotgun fire into the flooring as a warning, then push themselves into Eggsy’s golden hair. “See, if you don’t shoot him in about ten seconds, _I will_. But if you would like, I can help you start. _Shoot him in the knees._ ”

Harry’s adrenaline kicks in and tries to push the built men away from his captured arms, but the antagonist only ‘tsk’s and Harry can almost feel his cheshire grin as the grip on his limbs and neck merely tighten. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If you do, I’ll just kill this gentleman here and now. See, I will make you a deal: if you shoot him _five_ times, in _five_ different places, I just might let you and him go. And don’t try going and killing yourself either, love—if you die, so does he, and both of you are too _handsome_ to do that.”

Harry’s mouth is too dry and lips too chapped and rage too encapsulating to even muster a “fuck you” to the man, and merely bares his eyes into the floor. Eggsy is moaning now through the gag, tone slurring through the octaves and through that comes a piercing sob from his throat, and it’s _killing_ Harry.

“Shoot him in the knees, or I will shoot him in the head, hm?”

The guards holding onto Harry arm direct it so the pistol is facing Eggsy’s kneecaps. The safety from the shogun clicks and readies to discharge if Harry doesn't consent. In the background he hears that horrid man counting down, laughing, mocking— _ten, nine, eight_ —

And Harry pulls the trigger and hears the _worst sound that will haunt him for the rest of his life._

Eggsy’s cries echo endlessly in his head, in the chamber, through the halls—this awful, awful, blood-curdling screech of pain and anguish. His body is writhing and flopping around now in the chair in agony as blood and bone are gushing from torn skin on his leg, and all Harry thinks of is flashbacks from the church and killing innocents and remembers how Eggsy always gives him warm eyes and smiles whenever he’s in the room—

“Shoot his other kneecap.”

Harry drops the pistol because he’s still gagging from the noise and the sight and the smell of _Eggsy._

One of the henchmen forces the pistol back into his hands. 

“You have ten seconds. You don’t want to see his brains on your suit, do you?”

He counts down again and Harry is forcibly obliging in his instructions, and shoots poor Eggsy again and that harsh, piercing screech of torture comes back a second time—Eggsy’s gag is unraveling and he can hear his screams more clearly now—and by the third bullet impaling itself deep in Eggsy’s thighs, Harry is choking on vomit and doesn’t even feel the endless tears on his cheeks. 

“Two more, love.”

Eggsy is begging his name now in strangled slurs and uncontrollable sobs and Harry’s nearly unconscious now and he’s silently begging Eggsy to not say his name ever again for what he’s doing again and all Harry forces from his traumatized, trembling mouth is a "sorry."

_“Harry, H-H-arrrr…Stop, please—”_

The men prod his arms toward Eggsy’s forearm, and the gun fires and the cycles of anguish repeats again. Eggsy’s still tossing and turning and screaming from the first three bullets and his conscious isn’t ready for another, and when it comes through the shoulder all Eggsy’s throat manages to release is a pained whine.

“I’ll let you choose where to put the last one, love,” the man says, tracing hearts on Harry’s nape.

Harry takes all the time he is given until the man counts down to five, chooses Eggsy’s other forearm and fires again. And as Eggsy slowly bellows out last bit of suffering until he faints, the men release Harry from their grasps and allow the older Kingsman to collapse in a miserably sobbing heap on the floor. 

“Well done, good sir, well done,” the faceless man coos, pulling the pistol from Harry’s sweaty, lifeless palms. 

Harry is breathless now, and when he finally recollects himself from his sorrowful state he inches slowly towards Eggsy, who is drifting in and out of consciousness with the last wails of pain and “Harry” leaving his lips, dripping with saliva. Blood pools all over his suit and follows the seams of Eggsy’s Oxfords to the floor, the copper scent overwhelming Harry. 

And before he even touches Eggsy, before it hits him and before he could breathe again, shotgun shells ring out and all Harry sees through the biting tears in his eyes is what _was_ Eggsy, pinkish and vermillion plumes and strings of his body decorating the ceiling and the walls and all over _Harry_.

“Unfortunately…" the antagonist starts again, closing the doors to the chamber as his henchmen stay behind, "I never promised anything, did I?”

Harry doesn’t even remember himself screaming or the gun at his temple as the world suddenly fades into a painful darkness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"..arry. _Harry!_ "

He awakens with a jolt and sees Eggsy shaking him violently by the shoulders, shouting his name in panic as he was only minutes ago, but with _life_. Merlin and Roxy are over his shoulder, worry over their faces. 

Harry’s hospital bed and robe are pooling with sweat and his chin is dribbling with tears.

“Harry,” Eggsy starts, the familiar warmth gleaming in his eyes, “Are you alright? Having’ an awful dream, were you? You’ve been goin’ through those a lot— _fucking Valentine_ … You okay now? Harry? ...Harry?”

And Harry merely leans forward into Eggsy’s chest, sobbing quietly as a befuddled Eggsy embraces him back into slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> For tumblr. Almost wanted this to end on a bad note. Almost.


End file.
